A Beginner's Guide to Fangs

by Matthew S. Cox

  Wow.

  A rather familiar battered red notebook catches my eye on the desk. He’d probably spontaneously combust if I picked it up.

  “So, what do you do when you’re not at school or work?” I ask.

  “I read a lot. Novels mostly, some comics. I used to draw, but I haven’t done it in a while.”

  We wind up gazing into each other’s eyes again. Despite his four-year-old crush on me, and that I’m sitting in his bedroom, he’s not even remotely close to making a move. He wants to, but he’s way too shy. That, I can totally understand. Usually, I’m the shy one. If I had Sophia’s personality, I’d sit here and we’d both awkwardly pass the time, not quite looking at each other until I had to go. If I had Sierra’s personality, we’d be half undressed by now.

  Or maybe, if I had Sierra’s personality, I’d be on his computer playing a game, ignoring him totally.

  Hah.

  Hunter’s eyebrows go up when I start to snicker. “What?” He looks at the desk where my eyes happened to be pointing when I had that random thought, but nothing there is obviously funny. “What’re you laughing at?”

  “A silly little thought.”

  He takes a deep breath, lets it out, then puts an arm around me.

  Nice! A little confidence finally.

  “What thought?” he asks.

  “You know I have two sisters, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, one’s really shy. The other is anything but.”

  He nods. “Right…”

  “I just thought if I was Sierra, we might’ve already done something, but it would be more like her to check out your computer.”

  Hunter laughs. “That thing hasn’t turned on in like a year.”

  “I’m not worried about your computer.” I reach over and cradle his cheek. Argh! Why am I so nervous here? I’ve never been the forward girl. Never initiated this sort of thing. Oh, hell.

  I pull him into a kiss.

  For a guy who (I’m guessing) hasn’t had a lot of experience, he’s not bad at it.

  He leans back after a few minutes. “Are you sure you wanna do this?”

  “Yeah.” I go in for more, but he hesitates.

  “My parents could catch us.”

  I glance at the door. “So? We’re eighteen.”

  “Yeah, but that won’t matter to my father.”

  “Do you want to do this?” I ask, teasing a finger at his hair.

  “Uhh.” He fidgets. “What are you talking about?”

  “Making out?” I send hateful, killing thoughts down at the butterfly in my stomach. I have nothing at all to be nervous about. I’m not a scared high school girl anymore. Why am I coming unglued about being caught by the parents? And when did I become the bad girl tempting the innocent boy?

  “Yeah,” He says. “I’ve wanted to be with you forever.”

  “Well, don’t worry about your parents.” I scoot back onto the bed and pull him down to lay beside me. “I can smooth it over if we get caught.”

  He scrunches his eyebrows together. “You’re that persuasive?”

  “I know a few tricks.” Somehow, I latch onto a scrap of confidence that doesn’t belong to me, and climb on top of him. We’re still both fully dressed, but this feels so risky and wrong and like the worst idea I’ve ever had―but it’s so damn exciting.

  Hunter looks terrified; he’s shaking, but it’s from holding in his excitement. “You don’t know my father. How will you ‘smooth it over?’”

  I plant my hands on either side of his head and lower my face until our lips are a millimeter from touching. “It’s complicated.”

  Free Ride

  8

  I admit, hearing Hunter’s thoughts of ‘holy shit is this really happening?’ or ‘is she really here?’ are a little distracting.

  He’s nervous, but gives in to the moment. The kiss is tentative at first, but as soon as he gets over his disbelief, he commits. His hand at my cheek is such a tender connection it sets off a bomb inside me. I’m not used to anything like that. The only thing Scott ever used his hands for was to hold me down or grab on.

  Equally distracting is me wondering what I’m doing being the instigator. Then again, I didn’t have to before. And argh! I need to stop thinking about the asshole.

  We kiss for a while, writhing and grinding our bodies together. His breath picks up speed, the taste of it fills my mouth.

  “I love you so much,” whispers Hunter. “I can’t believe this moment is really happening.”

  “Believe.” I flash a coy smile and push myself up to straddle him.

  He sprawls on the bed, arms over his head like a murder victim, gazing up at me with a look of total adoration. Wow. Who am I again? I’ve become Opposite Girl. Ignoring that thought, I peel my sweatshirt off and toss it to the mattress beside us.

  “It’s a little warm in here,” I whisper.

  “Yeah.”

  Sitting astride him, I gaze down at his charming, offbeat little grin. He looks like the happiest guy in the world who doesn’t really comprehend what’s going on. I really don’t either―at least as far as understanding why I’m not just sitting here, quiet and innocent, like I used to. Is it the vampire thing? Or have I spent too much time around Aurélie? I mean, I never had any sexual interest in girls, but I’m not sure I’d say no if that woman wanted to go there.

  Yeah, she wears some really strong perfume.

  I pull my T-shirt up a bit to expose my stomach. “It really is kinda hot in here.”

  Since I’m sitting right on top of him, it’s impossible not to become acutely aware of how excited Hunter really is. Amused at the bulge growing under me, I shimmy a little. He makes a face of discomfort.

  “You can touch me if you want,” I whisper.

  He traces his fingertips over my stomach, sending little spiraling whorls of tingle throughout my body. I bite my lip, goading him on with a stare. Inch by inch, he slides his hand up under my shirt. His touch is definitely masculine, but his skin is softer than―

  Argh!

  I close my eyes. Must. Stop. Thinking. The. S. Word. I’ll need to kill him again, mentally.

  When Hunter cups my breast, my eyes pop open. We’re both breathing hard; he’s got a little sweat beading on his forehead. I stretch back and pull my T-shirt off. There’s nothing at all sexy about my basic-ass bra, but Hunter doesn’t seem to care. I almost lose the mood at the look on his face, like a twelve-year-old who’s caught his first glimpse of nudity in a movie he shouldn’t have been watching.

  Grinning to keep from giggling, I work my hands under his shirt and push it up. He sits up enough to take it off, and we collapse on top of each other again, skin on skin. I still have no idea what’s come over me, but if this winds up going all the way, I don’t think I’m going to chicken out.

  No… I know I’m not gonna chicken out.

  His hands slide down my back and go into my jeans, squeezing my butt. He grunts, squirming at the tightness in his pants. I drag a kiss off his mouth and put my lips to his ear.

  “Undo the clip.”

  “Wha?” he whispers.

  “In the middle of my back.”

  He freezes still for a second or two, then reaches around me to open my bra. I really do hate these things. Whoever invented them must’ve worked for the Spanish Inquisition. Probably a man.

  When the clip pops apart, I sit up again, clutching the cups to my chest with both hands. Hunter grins, watching as I do a pathetic little striptease wiggle, tugging the torture device down bit by bit until my breasts pop free.

  Hunter’s expression is basically Indy seeing the Lost Ark.

  Well, okay, maybe that’s a bad metaphor. That thing did melt faces off people and my chest isn’t that epic. He groans as I grind my hips into his. I lean down again, my hair falling into a tunnel of dark chestnut brown around his face. While he’s distracted with my hanging boobs (hey, they’re not huge, but they can still dangle), I rake my nails over the
lump in the front of his jeans.

  “Ngh.” He grunts. “You’re half naked.”

  I kiss his chest. “So are you.”

  He moans with pleasure.

  “Did you say that in surprise, or because you think I should be all naked?”

  He cradles my chest, rubbing his thumbs around my nipples. Oh, wow. That feels so weird. Good thing I’m lying on top of him; I think my legs have turned to jelly. I can’t help but gasp a little and squeak. As if inspired by a phantom muse, Hunter rolls us to the side and climbs on top of me. He starts to lower his mouth to my breast, but freezes, staring at me.

  “Sarah, you’re so beautiful, I could just look at you for hours.” He reaches down and fusses at my hair, which has fanned out around me on the bed. “I have to draw you, exactly like this.”

  I grab the front of his jeans and pop the button. “That sounds so romantic… but I can pose for you again.”

  He looks down. “Umm. I don’t have a…”

  “Condom?” I ask, smiling up at him as he kneels over me.

  “Yeah, that.”

  “It’s fine. You won’t get me pregnant.” I tug his jeans down, exposing his briefs.

  He gulps. “Umm. Are you sure?”

  I open my jeans. “Yes, and it’s complicated.”

  “Why do you keep saying that? You’re not complicated; you’re perfect.”

  With a little shimmy, I begin working my jeans down. As soon as my hips come into view, I think he’s going to pass out. Hunter picks at the waistband of my panties. I give him a ‘go ahead’ nod.

  The instant he curls his finger under the strap, his bedroom door flies open and slams into the wall like a gunshot. A wiry/muscular guy with a biker beard and a brush cut looms in the door, glaring at us.

  “Gah!” shouts Hunter, fumbling to pull his jeans up off his thighs.

  I let out a yelp and sit there staring at the guy as if my boobs aren’t totally exposed.

  “What the hell are you doing?” bellows the man. He stomps across the room, leaning into Hunter’s face.

  “Dad…” Hunter backs up.

  The initial shock gone, I hike my jeans up and button them.

  “I expected better from you,” shouts the man. “Not to come home and find you with a whore in your room. Under my roof!”

  Oh hell no.

  “Excuse me?” I gawk at him. “What the hell did you just call me?”

  “Is this how I raised you?” bellows the man, utterly ignoring I even exist. He advances, forcing Hunter to retreat until his back hits the bookshelf, knocking several novels to the floor. “This house is no place for you to bring your little whores.”

  “I’m not a whore!” shouts the girl who’s still tits out. I grab the sheet and pull it up to cover myself.

  Hunter shrinks back from him. “Dad, she’s not what you’re calling her.”

  The guy’s throwing off a strong smell of motor oil and beer. He doesn’t appear to be drunk, but I get the feeling he’s a professional alcoholist. His white shirt is stained here and there with dark spots, probably the source of eau-de-engine.

  “Things are gonna change around here,” barks Mr. Lawrence. “As you have failed to learn respect.”

  Hunter scowls.

  His dad grabs him by the throat and rams him against the shelf, knocking several more books to the desk and rug. “Don’t you dare give me that eye, boy.”

  Motion out of the corner of my eye draws my attention to the left.

  A skinny blond boy about the same age as my brother, in blue pajama pants and no shirt, hovers by the doorway, staring in terror at the scene. A nasty bruise wraps around the side of his head. Seeing that―and how thin he is―pulls at my heart, but also gets me pissed off. He looks at me, silently telling me to run away. Before I can open my mouth, he dashes out of sight.

  At the distant slam of a door, Mr. Lawrence stops throttling Hunter into the bookshelf and yells, “Ronan, we talked about slamming doors!”

  I slide toward the edge of the bed, still clinging to the sheet.

  “You sit your whore ass down, little missy,” says Mr. Lawrence. “I ain’t done with him yet.”

  “Don’t call her that!” yells Hunter.

  The man slaps him. “Backtalk now? What’s gotten into you, boy? This whore working her charms? Well, your free ride is over.”

  “Leave him alone,” I say.

  Hunter tries to shove his father away. The man overpowers him with ease, and throws him down beside the desk. His body hitting the floor shakes the whole house.

  “Now, you listen to me.” Mr. Lawrence stalks over and points down at him. “Your ass is gonna straighten up and fly right. Enough of this fantasy nonsense.” He sweeps a whole row of books off the shelf in one swipe. “Your ass is comin’ back to the real world. You are gonna straighten up and fly right. Step one: no whores in my house. Step two: your ass is gonna pick either the Army or the Marines and enlist.” He scoffs. “I suggest Army since you’re a pansy.”

  “Leave him alone,” I yell.

  As if finally noticing I’m an actual person, Mr. Lawrence whirls to face me. “Get your whore clothes on and your whore ass out of my house.”

  “She’s not a whore!” yells Hunter, while rolling upright. He leaps into a grab, trying to drag his father away from me.

  They spin around with a brief exchange of punches ending with a stiff jab to the cheek that sends Hunter sprawled over his desk. His forehead smacks the computer, breaking the faceplate off it. He bounces away and crumples to the floor, dragging notebooks and random junk with him.

  No wonder his PC doesn’t work anymore. Grr.

  Fuming, I slide off the bed to stand, still holding the sheet over my front. “Call me that one more time and your balls are going down your throat.”

  Hunter waves his arms around, trying to get up, but he’s too disoriented.

  Mr. Lawrence shoves him back to the floor, then stomps over to me. He’s at least a foot taller than me, but skinny. And he thinks he’s intimidating. “Oh. We got a whore with a smart mouth? Guess I just throw you out half-naked, but you’d probably like that, wouldn’t ya?”

  Growling, I haul off and slug him in the jaw.

  Mr. Lawrence flies across the bedroom and goes headfirst into the wall by the door, sticking in it like a human arrow.

  “Holy shit!” yells Ronan out in the hallway.

  Hunter gawks at me.

  I’m so pissed off it takes me a second to realize the girls are out. I glance down at my boobs, sigh, then snag my T-shirt off the bed and wriggle into it as fast as I can. Screw the bra.

  Mr. Lawrence groans and pulls himself out of the hole. Bits of drywall tumble to the floor. White dust covers his head, face, and shoulders, making him look like the world’s most severe coke fiend. His glare has gone from domineering to legit murderous. He lunges at me with a wild punch, but he’s only human. Ducking around his fist is pretty easy since he appears to be moving in slow motion. The force he put into it pulls him off balance and he winds up on the bed, shrieking in rage from either missing or looking foolish.

  Hunter’s gaze flashes back and forth between his father and me, almost as if he can’t figure out which one of us he should protect from the other.

  Mr. Lawrence hurls himself back to his feet and spins to face me again. Before he can raise an arm, I pound my fist into the side of his head, right about where Hunter’s little brother had a bruise. I hold back enough so I don’t crush his skull, but judging by the hollow thump, that’s gonna leave a mark.

  He collapses in a heap, not quite unconscious, muttering incoherently about whores.

  “Ooh!” I scowl.

  Hunter runs over and grabs my arm. “Sarah… what the hell just happened?”

  I look at him.

  “Please don’t say ‘it’s complicated’ again.”

  “He hits your mother, doesn’t he?” I ask.

  Hunter looks down.

  “Yeah,” whispers Ronan from
the door. “I told him to stop. That’s why he hit me.”

  “You want this guy around anymore?” I ask.

  Ronan goes wide-eyed.

  “No, I’m not going to kill him.” I smile at Hunter. “Just convince him to live elsewhere and leave you alone.”

  Hunter kicks at the rug. “I dunno. He’s still my father.”

  I point at the door. “Look at what he did to your brother. Look at him. Does that man let this kid have food?”

  “Yeah…” Hunter can’t peel his stare off the rug at me. He paces into the back end of the room. “He’s always been like that. They’re actually divorced, but he keeps coming back.”

  Mr. Lawrence staggers upright. “Where’s that damn whore?”

  A spike of anger takes me. I grab him by two fistfuls of shirt and swing him around, ramming his back against the wall, glaring down at him. “Listen to me, asshole. You’re gonna go the hell away from here and leave these people alone.” My will invades his mind, saturating it with the notion he doesn’t want to be in this house―or anywhere near it.

  “Umm, Sarah,” asks Hunter. “Do you realize you’re floating?”

  I look away from Mr. Lawrence at the two-ish feet of distance between my sneakers and the rug. “Oops. Sorry, got a little pissed off.” After settling back to stand, I fling the guy flat on his chest. “He won’t bother you again.”

  Ronan stares at me with a mixture of awe and terror.

  “C’mere,” I say, smiling at him.

  He stands transfixed, slightly shaking his head ‘no way.’

  I beckon him with a wave, and a little mental nudge.

  The boy approaches me, shaking from the war between his fear and the compulsion to approach me.

  “It’s all right, kiddo.” I take a knee so we’re more or less eye level. “You’re safe now.” My thoughts plunge into his like a demon-possessed cleaning lady. By the time I’m done staring into his eyes, he believes Hunter stood up to their dad and sent him packing. There’s so many bad memories of that man hitting his mother, trying to erase them would make a giant mess. Besides, I don’t want the kid to blindly trust this guy if he ever shows back up. So, as much as it pains me to leave all those memories of abuse in there, I do. Maybe I get rid of the really bad spots though.